Troubled Water
by crookedview
Summary: After 9 months on the island, they were rescued. The former castaways soon realize that things are so different from before, and some are more happy than others with the outcome... Ch.12 Sawyer isn't in a good mood and his idiot cousin pushes him too far.
1. Shannon

A/N Hurrah! Another fanfic to busy myself with. So, let us catch up on our lovely LOST characters. It's four months since they were rescued, and some are faring better than others… Shannon is my first chapter. I don't like her at all, but I have a lot of fun writing from her perspective. Hmmm. Enjoy, and do send me some yummy reviews, if you please.

And October Sky, if you read this… please please please don't think I'm copying you with the whole: they're back from the real world thing and there's danger afoot. It's something I've had in mind for a few months and never got around to doing it… besides; I assure you it's not much like your fantastic fic at all.

* * *

If someone turned to look at Shannon in the dim movie theater, they might have thought she was enjoying the film.

She had her eyes on the screen, but they were unfocused. In fact they were full of tears. Shannon had become very good at looking as if she was happy. Now she was letting her guard down. She wiped at her eyes furiously so her friends Melanie and Jenna, who were on both sides of her, wouldn't see her crying. _Come on,_ Shannon thought dryly to herself. _This isn't even a sappy romance. It's supposed to be funny. _Maybe it would have been hilarious if she was in the mood. Right now, she just wanted to go home and get drunk. Today wasn't a good day.

How pathetic was she? She groaned inwardly at herself. She _used _to be the social butterfly, the partygoer, the adventurous fun-loving girl who always went to nightclubs with her friends – just to check out the hot guys. She used to drink a lot because she lost control when she was having fun. Well… almost always having fun. Now she would sit down at the t.v. alone in her apartment and drink beer after beer, almost every night.

It wasn't her friends that were a problem. They'd been so awesome when she was rescued.

_Shan! Oh my God, when I saw on the news that there were survivors, I almost had a heart attack!_

_Sweetie, we can't believe you're really here. We missed you so much._

_Are you ready for the best night on the town you've ever had?_

But slowly, after a while, they had realized that she was changed. When had she changed, by the way? When she'd gone to Australia and left her friends in L.A.? The crash? When Boone died? Or when the cruise ship came, and instead of rejoicing like she'd imagined, she'd spent the day vomiting into the sand because she couldn't wrap her mind around leaving?

They had started questioning her worriedly or kindly, or trying to lighten the mood.

_Are you hung over again? God, Shan, you drink more than a fish!_

_What's wrong, hon?_

_You seem kind of pissed off today._

_Is it Boone?_

_Is it Boone... _Shannon scoffed hatefully. She clenched her teeth and balled up her fists every time they mentioned him. She refused to talk about her brother. She couldn't bring herself to think of the day the survivors had buried his broken body on the hill. She had stood apart from everyone, as if she was an onlooker, not the main reason why all of them had congregated around the makeshift grave. She wouldn't let anyone come near her, and if they did, she would ignore them until they left. Several people did try to comfort her, but she'd just lashed out at them. They had finally seemed to realize that it was better to let poor, grieving, drama queen Shannon cry alone. So she had stood there, her arms around her protectively, and watched everyone watch her. She watched them nail down the grave marker. That crude, hated little cross that was supposed to be a grave marker. Shannon hated it so much and didn't even know why. Maybe she thought Boone deserved better. Maybe she thought _she _deserved better.

Better than to sit, isolated on a godforsaken beach eating the remains of a tusked beast with no one to talk to… no one who mattered at least. She had pushed them both away. She had pushed Boone away, and then he died. She had pushed Sayid away because of Boone. And she couldn't bring herself to go back to Sayid, because she was afraid of what might come tumbling out of her fat mouth.

Now she'd been back from the island for four months. Her friends started to get exasperated. Finally, Melanie had sat her down in her apartment. She fiddled with the t.v. remote in her hands before speaking. At first she talked downwards, as if she was talking to the sofa. Finally she looked pleadingly up at Shannon's tight face. "Shannon… it's not healthy that you never talk about your brother." She paused, nervous. "I mean, I can tell, like, that you're upset and everything, and who wouldn't be? But… we don't even know how he _died_, Shan. We tried to find out on the Internet –"

Shannon had given her an icy frown. Melanie recoiled as if she'd been slapped.

"We didn't want to pry, or anything!" she whined defensively. "But all we found is that he died after the plane crash." She hesitated, and then bravely looked Shannon in the eye. "How did Boone die, Shan?"

"I don't know." She answered hollowly, staring straight back.

Melanie rolled her eyes. "Come on." She said, her voice raised. "I know you've been through a lot, but _God,_ we're your _friends_. I think we deserve to know!"

"So do I." Shannon had said, and without further detail, knowing Melanie would never bring Boone up again, she had stood and left the room.

* * *

Now, in the cinema, Shannon looked sideways at Melanie. She was giggling like she didn't have a care except the color of her nails. Melanie had no idea. She'd said she deserved to know. That couldn't be farthest from the truth. Melanie didn't even know what day it was. No one had remembered. Or had they ever know. It didn't matter. Melanie hadn't been there when her world fell apart. _How could she be there?_ Shannon argued with herself. _We_didn't even know where we were. But it was no use. She knew she would have to leave or she'd really start to cry.

* * *

Shannon flopped down on the sofa. It was soft and inviting, but she didn't feel like sleeping. She would only have nightmares anyway.

She decided to grab a couple of beers and watch t.v.

"How predictable." She said out loud to herself, because there was no one else to talk to.

_Oh, God._ Her desolateness rose in her stomach like nausea. What a horrible day. A sudden fury bubbled to the surface, and Shannon threw her unopened beer as hard as she could across the room. It shattered against the wall, and the liquid sprayed and dripped to the expensive carpet.

She sank down onto the sofa, her face in her hands. She needed a distraction. Anything. Quickly, she flipped on the t.v. She began channel surfing and landed on the Entertainment Channel. It was a True Hollywood Story.

She laughed. She laughed in a loud, manic way that made her insides cringe.

"He's done it all," the television announcer said in a fake, squeaky voice. "He's been a rock sensation. He's come back from the dead. Now he's going to get married and be a step-dad. Tonight, we're going to delve into the exciting life of Charlie Pace."

The screen went to a clip of Charlie, guitar case in hand, ambling down a city street and walking side by side with Claire. They were ignoring the camera and talking animatedly.

Shannon wiped her face and watched. A small smile played on her lips. Then she took a deep breath, reached across the arm of the couch, and picked up the phone. She bit her lip, wondering why the hell she was doing this, why now, why today? Then she dialed a number she knew by heart, but had never used before.

It rang once. It rang again. She considered hanging up, but knew it was a juvenile thing to do. Her heart beat against her ribcage. Why was she doing this?

"Hello?" A soft, male, foreign voice answered the phone.

She gasped.

"Hello?" he asked again, slightly impatient.

"Sayid." She said. She wanted to say something more, but couldn't seem to think properly.

There was a pause. "Shannon?"

"Charlie and Claire are getting married." She blurted stupidly.

"I know."

A sudden sob escaped her, though she had no idea it had been coming.

"It's Boone's anniversary." She cried.

"I know."


	2. Charlie

Chapter 2 –Charlie

A/N Hola! What a lovely episode it was last night! Every time I was about to cry, something funny happened, like Hurley singing "I feel good" to the poor baby. Haha! Anyway, I just wanted to share with you that one thing that bugged me last episode is that Claire didn't think of a name for the baby. So, to avoid calling who is now a toddler in my fic "the baby", I'm going with Willie, since that was the baby's name in my other fic, Espoir.

Thanks to MrsTater and suspencer for reviewing, i really appreciate it!

* * *

It was a beautifully warm day in Inglewood, and Claire suggested they take a walk to the little park a few blocks from their apartment.

Strolling down the sidewalk, Claire pushing the stroller with a cheerful and excited Willie inside, Charlie for the millionth time reminded himself how lucky he was. He turned, smiling at his fiancée with complete happiness. Imagine, a little more than a year ago, he was clinging to the chance of restoring DriveShaft, and clinging to his heroin even more. He thought of that period in his life shamefully, and sometimes he wondered how Claire trusted him so easily. _He _knew that he wasn't tempted any more by drugs, but how could _she_ be so sure? He guessed that's just what love does to a person.

"Mommy!" Willie shrieked, the playground coming to view. He bounced up and down in the stroller, pulling impatiently at the seat belt. "Slide! Slide!"

Both Charlie and Claire laughed at their adventurous little boy. And yes, he did think of Willie as _theirs_. Charlie often forgot that Willie wasn't technically his son. But truly, he didn't mind. He had always loved the little kid, and felt like he was partly his responsibility with Claire being single after all, and no family to help her out. Not that Charlie had ever felt tied down or obligated. No, he'd asked Claire to marry him simply because she had become his love and his life.

He watched her unfasten the seat belt that imprisoned Willie, and watched him waddle as quickly as he could to the slide with Claire anxiously towing behind. He leaned against the fence and affectionately watched his family play. He looked delighted as Willie slid down into Claire's waiting arms, shouting in his squeaky child's voice, "Wheeee!"

He suddenly felt the presence of someone else behind him.

"Hey, little brother," a familiar British voice said.

"Liam!" Charlie turned to see his brother, hands in pockets, grinning. He looked pleased with himself, having successfully snuck up Charlie and definitely shocked him.

"Surprised?"

Charlie closed his open mouth. "Bloody hell, Liam!" He gave him a quick, awkward hug. "I don't believe it!"

Liam's smile faltered a little. "I'm only sorry I haven't shown up before now. What kind of brother am I not to come the second I hear you're alive?"

"Hey." Charlie brushed it away. "I knowyourwife was really sick. How's she doing?"

Liam leaned his back against the fence. "Last you heard, she'd just had chemo right?"

Charlie nodded, concerned.

"Well, it's been… what, two weeks since I talked to you on the phone? She had a doctor's appointment a few days ago, and he said the cancer's completely gone!"

Charlie sighed, relaxing. "Fantastic. Must be a weight off your shoulders, I'm sure."

Liam nodded seriously. "It's been a hard year. You have no idea. I mean, I don't know who had it worse, you or me. I felt horrible about you… well, _dying_ after getting on that plane once you left our fight, and –"

"Hey," Charlie interrupted. "We've been through this. It was not a fight. It was me being a dumbass." He laughed, slightly bitter.

Liam opened his mouth to speak, then hesitated, looking as if he was afraid to say what he was about to. His eyebrows knit together, a familiar habit he had when he was thinking hard.

"Are you clean?" He finally managed to say, casting his eyes away, as if embarrassed he had to ask.

"Completely." Charlie said proudly. He thought back to when he'd accidentally found the plane… the plane that had killed Boone… the plane that had almost made him give in. He frowned slightly remembering those dozens of baggies of the exact thing he was afraid to come across again. He had stared down at them, picked one up and held it in his hand, looking wonderingly and unbelieving of his bad luck. Or his good luck? He'd gone so far as to unwrap the bag, and reach down to the contents of it. Then, disgusted in his lack of self-control, and his complete selfishness, he'd dropped the bag as if it was on fire. He'd spent one moment looking one last moment at the bags and bags of heroin, and fled. He'd returned to caves, and straight to Claire, feeling full of power and exaltation.

Suddenly, Claire was beside him, holding Willie on her hip.

"Hello." She said politely. She looked at Charlie. "Who's this?"

"This is my brother." Charlie said, his jaw beginning to ache from genuinely smiling.

Claire gasped. "_You're _Liam? Oh, my God!" She immediately gave him a warm hug. "I can't believe I'm finally meeting you in person!" Flustered, she beamed, looking excitedly back and forth between Charlie and Liam. "Oh! This is Willie!" she cried, squeezing the boy slightly and looking at him with obvious love. His thumb was in his mouth, and he was watching with interest the stranger whom he would later call "Uncle Liam".

She looked about her in a frenzy, sudden horror on her face. "We don't have any food at home, and the guest room is still a mess!"

Liam nodded warmly at them. "I assume this is Claire." He said dryly, but with amusement in his voice. "No need to prepare anything for me." He added, kindly to her. "I know I should have called and asked if I could come. I was selfish and wanted to surprise you."

Claire shifted Willie to her other hip. "But the wedding's a whole month away!"

Liam choked mid-chuckle. "Huh?"

Charlie glanced at her with a mock-exasperated look. Her hand flew immediately to her mouth, realizing what she'd done. "Oops." Her muffled voice said.

Charlie turned back sheepishly at Liam.

"I called you yesterday. It seems you didn't receive my message…"

* * *

They sat in a small coffee shop. Claire sat next to Liam in one booth, and Charlie sat across from them with Willie on his lap, who was beginning to get droopy-eyed after his sojourn in the park.

"It's amazing," Liam was saying. "how you met on an uncharted island during what should have been… well, the most horrible time of your lives!" He took a sip from his steaming mug. "It's like some sort of fairy tale."

Amused, Charlie looked at Claire purposefully. "You have _no idea._" He scoffed lightly.

Claire smirked. _Polar bears, unseen monsters, hidden hatches, kidnappings… yes, this fairy tale has it all._ Charlie thought to himself, and knew Claire was thinking the same thing.

Liam looked at them both. "Ah, yes." He began wisely. "The secret mind-readings of those in love. I know it well."

Willie opened his coloring book with his pudgy fingers. He looked, uninterested, at the pictures, on each page, coming to rest on one page and staring at it avidly. Then he picked up a crayon and scribbled on the picture, trying with a humorously serious expression. When he deemed it worthy, he pulled on Charlie's sleeve until he had his attention.

"Daddy!" he said, pointing to a picture of a bear trying to catch a fish in a stream. In a clear, confident voice, he said seriously,

"Daddy! Polar bear."


	3. Michael

A/N Hello, all! Just so you know, despite Michael's feelings on Napoleon Dynamite, I personally think it's the bees' knees. You know what I mean.

October Sky – Yaaaaaay. Next time I'll let you know. lol.

DOMLUVR4EVER – Huh? Sorry, I don't know what you mean.

Shanters2005 – Thanks so much! Glad you like it.

Siri's girl – Oh good! I am out of the box! I appreciate it!

**Chapter 3 – Michael**

Michael finally relented and allowed Walt to persuade him to watch Napoleon Dynamite. After about three minutes, he knew he had made a mistake. He sat down on the couch next to his son and wondered if idiocy was contagious. Yet, he was glad that Walt had wanted him to watch it. It had been, what, four months since they'd been back, and Walt sometimes seemed so unhappy. There were times when he would sit in front of his Xbox for hours, not stopping until Michael intervened.

The typical weekday was busy and difficult. Michael would wake up around six to prepare for work, and Walt soon after. They would have a hurried breakfast, pack whatever they needed for the day, and would drive to Walt's school. He would be dropped off, usually still sleepy and not prone to much conversation. After a long day, Michael would come home. Walt would have been home for a couple of hours already, doing his homework. (Michael was proud to see that Walt was quite a good student.) They would have a not-so-elaborate dinner – maybe frozen dinners or pizza, and if they were lucky, some sort of pasta. Then would come the inevitable parent question:

"How was school?"

Sometimes, Walt would sound bored and uninterested. Other times, he would talk about something that had happened at lunch, something he did with his new friends… and Michael would doubt himself for thinking something was wrong. The kid was fine. Mood swings were normal.

Michael looked back at the TV set.

"What are you going to do today, Napoleon?"

"Whatever I feel like doing, _Gosh._"

_Who names their child Napoleon?_ Michael wondered. _That's just cruel. _He mused at his thoughts; he was becoming more and more like a parent every day. He wondered absently what would have happened if the plane never crashed, if they'd landed safely and gone to their new lives straightaway. It would have been rough. They may never have gotten close because they would never have had to rely on each other. Now – it wasn't like they were the model father and son, there was still so much to learn and so much that needed to improve – but Michael was sure that things_ would_ improve. The time on the island had helped them. He still didn't fully understand… he never would, but he did know that it would have been a much harder time if not for the crash.

He looked over at Walt, who was laughing. Here was something he didn't understand. He smiled a little. What was funny about this stupid movie?

The phone rang, and he jumped, startled.

"Four months home, and I'm still not used to the sound of a phone again." He complained to Walt, reaching over for the portable phone on the coffee table.

"Hello?"

"It's Brian."

It took a moment for Michael to remember who Brian was. Perplexed, he wracked his brain. "Br- …oh." He suddenly felt as if there was a weight on his stomach.

Walt turned. "Who is it, Dad?" he asked loudly.

Michael didn't know what to do. "Uh… hold on a minute, Walt. No, don't pause the movie, keep going."

Still holding the phone in his hand, he fled into the kitchen and closed the door tightly.

He rubbed his forehead tiredly, then lifted the phone to his ear again, afraid of whatever Walt's step-dad' had to say. He didn't want to hear it, regardless of what it was. He didn't want to open up any old wounds.

"Why are you calling?" he asked, an edge of anger in his voice.

At first, there was a silence. Then he heard a long sigh. "Listen. It took me a lot of courage to call. I'm embarrassed, and guilty for dumping Walt on you. And it was rotten luck with the whole plane thing, obviously."

"Obviously." Michael repeated. "What are you getting at?"

"I think… I think I should be able to talk to Walt." Brian's voice sounded a little timid.

Michael sat down at the kitchen table. He clenched his fist.

"Well, the law doesn't.' He said, his throat constricted.

"I know that." Brian replied. "But I think he might want to. He might miss me after all this time."

"No, I actually don't recall him ever saying he did." Fury was rising, and he tried hard not to raise his voice as well."

Brian's voice continued to become stronger and more confident. "Just because he doesn't say it doesn't mean he doesn't think it. Michael, I know him better than you do, and –"

"_Not anymore._" Michael yelled into the receiver, then, with much force, pressed the off button. He slammed the phone onto the table. With much effort, and after a few short and angry breaths, he calmly reentered the living room.

Again, Walt turned to face him, looking at him expectantly.

"It was… it was grandma." He told Walt exhaustedly.

"Oh." Was all Walt said, and he turned back to the television.

As Michael slumped down on the couch again, he was amazed at the effortless lie he just told his son. He knew that he was wrong to do so, and that he should tell Walt that it was his choice if he wanted to speak to Brian again, but he couldn't do so now. Not now. Maybe tomorrow.

* * *

Brian called the next day.

And the next. And the next. Each time, he sounded furious that Walt hadn't answered the phone and angrily expressed his desire to talk to him.

Michael dreaded the phone calls. Every day, he was furious with himself for not telling Walt, and fearful that he will have come home and answered Brian's phone calls. Every night, Brian called.

"I'm not trying to take the kid away from you, I just want to talk with him. It'll do him some good!"

"How is talking to a guy who claimed to love his child, then copping out when he needs him most some good?"

"Listen, you jackass, -"

"I'm not listening to this bullshit anymore." Michael burst out, and hung up.

He leaned against the countertop, his face in his hands. Was he afraid that Walt would want to go and live with Brian? Was it that he was insecure about Walt? Maybe a little. He knew Walt was still adjusting, and wasn't completely thrilled with his lifestyle, but he also knew that Walt would not want to leave Michael, or for that matter, want to be uprooted once again. So if that wasn't the reason Michael didn't want Walt to talk to Brian, what was? It suddenly dawned on him. He didn't want the man who had caused him so much pain to have any pleasure. Brian had taken Walt away from him, and had given up the right to ever speak with him again. Ever? The question echoed in his mind. If he didn't let Walt talk to Brian, he would be doing the same thing that Brian had done to him. He realized this painfully, knowing what he would have to do.

He knocked on Walt's bedroom door.

"Come in." he heard, and he slowly entered. Walt was sitting on his bed, reading a comic book. Vincent was asleep on his doggy bed.

Michael sat down next to him.

"Walt?"

Walt put the book down, resting it on his lap.

"In the past couple of days…" he stopped. He inhaled deeply. "In the past couple of days, I've talked to your step-dad on the phone." He looked carefully at Walt's expression. It was surprised, nothing more. Not excited, or spiteful… just surprised.

"He wants to find out how you're doing."

"So tell him." Walt said promptly.

"He wants _you _to tell him."

Walt sat staring at him for a moment. After a minute of silence, he shrugged. "Okay."

Michael felt that familiar dread. He dialed the number he had written down on a pad of paper, and Walt took the phone.

Michael didn't offer to give him privacy and leave, and Walt didn't ask for it. He looked briefly at Michael before he spoke. His face was blank, emotionless.

"Hi, Brian. It's Walt…good…good…yeah…Yeah, I still got Vincent." His eyes traveled to the sleeping dog. "Good." He said again. He looked almost bored. "It wasn't so bad…yeah, I guess the island was scary…no, I was the only kid…I mostly stayed with Dad…of course he's nice to me." He frowned slightly, as if Brian had said something to displease him.

Michael smiled despite himself, but quickly covered it.

Walt listened for a long time without saying anything. Michael strained to hear what Brian was saying, but to no avail.

Finally, Walt said, "No. I don't want to visit Australia…no, I don't want to take a boat, I'm not afraid of planes. I just don't want to go…yeah, I'm sure…Okay. Hey, I gotta go. Me and my Dad are going to the movie theater soon… okay… yeah… bye." And he hung up.

Michael stared at him. "We're going to the movie theater?" he finally said, relief washing over him.

Walt grinned. "Nah. I had to say something to get off the phone, didn't I?"

Michael grinned back. "So, that's it?"

"Yeah, I guess." Walt said. "I'm still kinda mad at Brian." He admitted.

"That's okay." Michael said. "But you can call him when you feel like it." He stood up, feeling rejuvenated, not because Brian didn't get what he wanted, but because he suddenly felt so in sync with Walt, so connected.

"Do you _want_ to go to the movie theater?"


	4. Hurley

A/N - 'Ello! Just wanted to warn ya'll, there's just a bit of a gory description in this chapter, but it's only about a paragraph.

**Chapter 4 – Hurley**

When Hurley came home, he waited for something bad to happen. He stayed at his parents' house… as before. They were embarrassingly happy to have him back, his mother especially. She seemed to break down crying and smiling every time she saw him. It was nice, but it got old after a while. Not that he wasn't glad to be rescued… right?

He waited for something horrible, for the curse to continue. He drove himself crazy wondering if it was his fault the plane had crashed, his fault all those creepy things happened, his fault, his fault, his fault. Now it wasn't any different. He was just in a different place doing the same thing.

Hurley gave up one day. It was just too much effort to live with his parents now. It had been about two months after the rescue. He told his parents that he needed his own place.

"Of course, I'll visit you all the time, I just feel like… I need space." He had told them awkwardly, as his mother looked hurt and his father stood arms crossed and stony-faced.

The truth was, he was afraid the curse would take a turn on his family. What was left of his family, anyway. His mind flashed back to his uncle, healthy and fit, all of a sudden collapsing on the road, dead before he hit the ground.

Hurley lived in constant fear. He knew it was time for him to move. Move and try not to get close to anyone. It was a depressing thought, he knew. But he felt like he would be endangering anyone who dared speak to him.

He knew he was paranoid. But so would everyone else be, if it had happened to them.

Hurley stepped into his newly furnished house. It was kind of small, or it could have been much larger in any case. He definitely had money to burn. He looked around unhappily. It was nice, very nice in fact. But he had been here about a month now, and it didn't feel like home at all. It was lonely and void of personality.

_It would be nicer if I had a friend or two over every once in while. _But he couldn't do that. He was bitter, he knew. But so would anyone else be, if it had happened to them.

He sat down at the table, the table he ate alone at almost every meal. At least he'd lost weight. Not a lot, of course, but it was noticeable. He was sure he'd gain it back over time though. It was just his luck. He leaned his chin on his hand, bored out of his mind.

At least on the island, things were interesting. Sure, they were life-threatening and wierd, but still… interesting. And he wasn't always nagged by his mom as if he had remained eight years old. And you know, boar didn't taste all that bad.

He sighed loudly, and got up. It was time to do something.

As he strolled down the sidewalk, he idly wondered how long it had been since the curse had done something. His brother broke his wrist… but Hurley hadn't even been there. Chances were, it was just a regular accident. What about the French chick?

He thought back, as if he was flipping back pages in a book. He had been wandering the forest one day, fully aware that he was probably going too far. He hadn't really minded, he knew he'd find his way back to the beach eventually. And if he didn't… maybe no one would get mauled by an invisible beast.

That's when he had almost run directly into Danielle.

It had sent his heart racing. He let out a yell, but was calmed to see that it was her, not… Ethan raised from the dead, or something. Then he had noticed that she was covered in blood, and her eyes were unfocused and dazed. He was reminded with a sick twinge in his stomach of a chicken with its head cut off.

"Um… are you… okay?"

Apparently not, because she stumbled to the ground wordlessly.

He remembered panicking, not knowing whether to touch her or not. Hurley had finally decided that carrying her would only make her worse, so he set off as fast as he could to find Jack, trying as hard as he could as he ran to remember landmarks. Besides, he'd probably pass out if he stayed near her another minute. It took almost three hours to bring the doctor back to where he had found Danielle.

She was gone. At first, he wondered if maybe there was a different clearing that he had taken Jack to the wrong place, and her fallen body was somewhere else. But ever-observant Jack grimly pointed out the puddle of dried blood on the forest floor.

Hurley had shuddered, feeling dizzy, and said without much hope, "Maybe she just got up and left."

Jack nodded, but didn't agree, and Hurley knew that his suggestion wasn't the case.

What _had _happened, nobody knew. Danielle was never seen again. Weird stuff.

And Hurley was blaming himself as usual. But so would anyone else be, if it had happened to them. Weird.

Even weirder that he kind of… _missed_ the island. He missed the soft beach, and the quiet forest, and the warm waves. He kind of liked fishing. He kind of liked this new adventure that he'd never experienced anything like before. He kind of liked pissing Sawyer off. Okay, not kind of. He really liked pissing Sawyer off. He liked Claire and Charlie, the fairy-tale couple with Turnip Head, that adorable little kid. He liked Jack, who knew what he was doing as a doctor and was also a good guy. He liked everyone there, really.

He found himself entering the supermarket. _Yep. Comfort yourself with food, you idiot. _He reprimanded himself harshly. He walked to the end of the store to the deli. He waited until a man stepped out from behind the back door.

Hurley knew he would sound stupid, but he needed to ask anyway.

"Um. I was wondering. Do you have any boar?"

The deli dude stared at him. "Boar's Head products, you mean? Like, Boar's Head turkey and chicken?"

"No, like, boar. Hairy pig with tusks? Attacks when provoked? Attacks when not provoked? Tastes good even unsalted, or without barbeque sauce? You just have to get used to it, but after a while, it's good, I swear. Of course, it spoils easy, especially when you're on a deserted tropical island and there aren't refrigerators." He knew he was rambling but he couldn't seem to stop.

The deli dude didn't answer, only stared at him some more. Of _course_ he didn't answer. What does someone say to that?

Hurley let out a loud sigh again. "Never mind, dude. Never mind."

He went home in a bad mood, annoyed with himself for acting so stupid, and also feeling a little depressed. In fact, he was feeling more than depressed. He really didn't think getting the mail would make him feel better, buthe was met with a surprise.Sitting inside the mail slot was a magazine, a catalogue, a couple of bills and… a wedding invitation.


	5. Kate

**Chapter 5 - Kate**

Her two roommates Laura and Angel watched the newcomer. When the guard brought her into the cell for the first time, they looked up from their poker game with interest. They had heard about this new one.

They were disappointed. She was ashen-faced, and her thin lips were pressed together gravely. There was an odd blankness in her eyes. She was unhealthily skinny, her posture was bent like an old woman's as if she was ashamed and was trying not to be seen. Her hair was long and curly and looked unattended to. As soon as the barred cell door closed, she gravitated to the bare bed and lay down without a word.

For a long time, they asked her questions politely. They asked the obligatory one – "What are _you _in for?" She did not answer. They changed subjects. They asked about the plane crash, the island. When she still didn't speak, they asked other things, like if she had a boyfriend. After a few weeks of trying, they gave up. They realized that she wouldn't speak to anyone.

They had concernedly told some of the staff about her. They said she might want a shrink or an antidepressant or something. There was something wrong with her. But nothing could be done, because she refused to take any medicine and she refused to speak.

They kept a close eye on her. She was a mystery, and they were curious. She lay in bed, curled up in a ball, face turned away from searching eyes. Her thin, coarse blanket was wrapped around her at all times, even when she left the cell to eat, which was seldom. As weeks went by, they sometimes forgot she was there. That lump on the bed in the corner, that enigma meant nothing to them, because they didn't know her, and doubted they ever would. So they watched her remain silent and watched her slowly lose weight and watched her fade away. In more than four months, Katherine Ryan hadn't cracked a smile, hadn't shared her story, hadn't spoken a word to anyone.

So her roommates were surprised when they came back from lunch to see her sitting at the table, holding a newspaper in two shaking hands, and laughing.

The guard who was escorting them gave her a strange look, but continued on his way after he carefully locked the cell door.

There she was, sitting straight, her face with the first signs of emotion her roommates had ever seen… and it scared them. She was shaking severely, the newspaper quivering, and there were tears in her eyes. Her laughter was raucous and out of control. She was gasping for breath, but she still laughed.

They stood in front of her, afraid to say anything, or go near her. She turned to them, and her laughter died down. She still held an insane smile on her face. Slowly, she turned the paper so it faced them.

"I found this in a trash can in the hall." She said loudly, mirth in her raspy voice. "Apparently, they don't clean out the garbage very often." She looked at them, and they stared back. "Well, come on, look at it. It's funny."

Cautiously, Laura and Angel stepped forward, eyeing her as if she was insane. She probably was. She had an odd gleam in her eyes, and her mouth was still curled in that unkind smirk. Her cheeks were very flushed, no longer the unhealthy gray pallor that they had been all these weeks.

They leaned forward and looked at the paper. On the front page was the large headline "Castaways Presumed Dead are Rescued". Next to it was a picture of a thirty-ish man with short dark hair and a tattoo on his arm. He was smiling, but it was a fake, hollow smile. The caption read, "Jack Shepherd, a surgeon, may have saved several lives after the Oceanic 815 crashed."

She chuckled again, alarming her roommates. They involuntarily stepped backwards.

"Everyone who I ever cared about," she rasped, looking directly at them, "has either left me or died." She flung the paper across the room suddenly, as if she couldn't bear to touch it any longer. It hit the wall and fluttered to the cold linoleum floor. "Except for them. And he won't come and visit. I'll rot away in prison before any of them come." Her voice escalated angrily as she continued, but she still smiled.

"Why?" Laura asked timidly. It was whispered, it was afraid.

She stopped smiling abruptly. "I told him not to. I told Jack to tell everyone that I never wanted to see any of them again." She looked at them, searching for understanding. When they didn't reply, she said, "I didn't want them to see me like… like _this._" She spread her pencil-thin arms wide, gesturing her fallen state. "I'm pathetic! I'm weak and selfish and disgusting!" Her cheeks flushed even more. "I don't even recognize myself anymore! I used to be able to handle-" She suddenly coughed, a deep long cough that rattled against her protruding ribs. A flash of pain crossed her face. She stopped, and took a big, gasping breath. She sat in the middle of the room looking like a miserable child.

Finally, Laura reached out tentatively to comfort her. "Katherine…"

She pulled back jerkily. "Kate."

"Kate." She lightly touched Kate's shoulder, and this time she didn't flinch. "God," Laura breathed. "You're burning up!"

Kate ignored her. "I have lived a life that has just ruined everyone else's. I have made everyone who knows me wish they didn't." She looked shocked to say this out loud. Kate coughed again, and this one was worse. She doubled over, choking. When it finally subsided, she had tears dripping out of her eyes. "Why am I telling you this?" she said, suddenly agitated. "I don't know you. I don't know you! You don't give a damn!" Her shaking frame stood up, kicking the wooden chair out of the way. It tipped and crashed to the floor with a loud echoing boom.

She gave a final shudder and passed out cold on the floor.

* * *

She dreamed of when the cargo ship came upon their island. It was an accident, they had said, they had veered offcourse during a storm. Everyone was jubilant, all smiles and hugs and laughter. They had all piled onto the boat without a backward glance at the island. Well, not all of them. Shannon looked utterly miserable to leave. So did Hurley. And Kate… she had stood at the line where the beach ended and the forest began, and had seriously considered simply running into the forest, running as far as she could and staying where she was until they left. But anything would be better than that, right? Not so, she thought, even as she dreamed.

So she had gotten onto the boat, and once they reached California had climbed down the gangplank, seeing as she walked, a group of police officers and knowing there would be no escape. As they handcuffed her, Jack had come up to her side, with concern and even a bit of fear in his expression. Kate had turned a cold face to him.

"I don't ever want to see you again." She spat at him. "I don't want to see any of you ever. Keep out of my fucking life." She had spoken with such vehemence that she had thought Jack would have looked angry or hurt. But his face just closed. She realized that he had expected this from her, and the realization made her even more furious.

"Okay, Kate." Softly, resignedly. That was all he said. Then he looked at her a final time, melted back into the crowd, and she was towed away with everyone staring at her.

So often had she replayed this in her mind behind her closed eyes. She hated it, hated her life, hated herself. Kate had lost all hope and desire. What was the point of going outside if it was cold and artificial everywhere except in the dark under her blanket where no one could see her? What was the point of eating if it all tasted like ash in her mouth? What was the point of talking to all these women? They didn't understand her and she didn't understand them. The only thing they had in common was that they were all horrible people.

* * *

The first thing she noticed when she woke up was that she was hot. She felt very hot, ached all over and she was not in her jail cell bed. When she opened her eyes, everything was a blurred mess. Most of the blur was white. Was she in a hospital? She tried to remember the last thing that had happened. She was acting like a lunatic in the cell. She was screaming at her roommates. She knocked the chair over…

"Kate!"

Hearing her name, she jolted up, which she immediately felt sorry that she had done. Her head throbbed, and she was very dizzy. Her wrist scraped against metal and stung painfully… was she cuffed to the bed?

"Here, lay back down." Two strong hands gently pushed her back against the pillows. She blinked several times to clear her vision as well as her brain. She gave a weak gasp.

Jack was standing over her, his hands on her shoulders.

She didn't know what to feel. First she was surprised, and then her surprise turned to anger, then melted away to complete happiness.

"Jack." Was all she could manage to say, as she looked dazedly up at him.

He grinned. "Hi."

She was starting to feel cold again. She started shivering under her sheets. "I don't understand what's going on." She said pitifully, her voice still raspy from disuse.

"You're very sick." He told her seriously. "You almost died. Kate, you haven't been eating." He sounded very paternal and stern. It might have annoyed her before, but now she was just so pleased to hear his voice that she didn't mind.

But she suddenly felt very self-conscious about her thin body.

"I know." She felt a chill go through her body. "But why're you here?" She slurred, unable to speak clearly, especially through her suddenly chattering teeth.

"They're letting me stay with you for a while under the circumstances." Still under her confused stare, he continued. "Your roommate was able to get some help finding me." He paused. "I'm sorry."

She wasn't sure whether he was sorry for her being sick, or sorry he had gone against her wishes or sorry that he had come. She didn't have enough energy to ask.

She saw him look at her exhausted, fevered self, and she watched as he sat down on the edge of the bed.

"You're cold?" He asked quietly.

She nodded.

Slowly, gently, he lay down next to her and wrapped his arms around her. Her head lay against his warm and protective chest, and her held her tightly. She closed her eyes.

"I missed you so much." She whispered.

And he held her for a long time, until her violent shivering subsided and she fell into a deep and untroubled sleep.


	6. Sayid

**missuniverse93 and OctoberSky - YEAH! Give Hurley some lovin'!**

**Thank you everyone for your reviews!**

**Chapter 6 – Sayid**

He was nervous. He realized that he was acting stupid, acting like a pathetic teenage boy. They had clarified on the phone that their meeting was _not_ a "date". Neither of them had wanted it to be. But as he approached the café they had decided to meet at, he stuffed his hands in his pockets, something he did when he was uncomfortable. When he noticed this, he quickly pulled them out again. He inwardly scoffed at his own behavior. He was acting ridiculous.

He pushed the door open and stepped inside. He surveyed the small, dimly lit restaurant. It wasn't fancy; in fact, it looked somewhat plain. There was a performer in the corner, a girl playing the piano and singing with a soft, lilting voice. He immediately searched for Shannon, but couldn't find her, even in such a small place. He looked up at the clock on the wall, he was ten minutes late. Odd.

He stood awkwardly at the entrance for a moment, before he was slammed into. With surprise, he looked down and saw Shannon, hugging him tightly.

"Sayid I can't believe you came for me I can pay for the air fare if you want me to I just can't believe you're here and you came all this way and it's so good to see you and I've missed you and I'm sorry I never called you it's just it was so hard to after everything that happened-" She pulled back and looked up at him. "And I'm rambling on and on." She finished embarrassedly. She wiped at her eyes, trying to smile.

Sayid smiled back. "Hello, Shannon." He said simply. He examined her closely. "You look different." She had on a little mascara, as evidenced by the black smears she had made when she was crying. Other than that, she didn't have on any makeup, certainly a change from before. She had on jeans and a baggy sweatshirt. Very un-Shannon. But what made her look the most different was the expression she had on her face. It was happy, yes, but underneath, it was tired and lonely.

"I'm sorry I didn't dress up to see you." She said regretfully. "I didn't want to be late, and I lost track of time, and…"

"And here I am the late one. I apologize for that." He answered promptly. And he was sorry. She seemed so… earnest.

They sat down at a booth. Shannon ordered a salad. Sayid ordered a black coffee.

"So," he asked, trying to be polite, but wanting so badly to ask her a thousand questions at once, (How are you really? Do you feel small off the island and in a big city? Why did you suddenly call me? Why wouldn't you forgive me? Or have you, finally?) "What have you been doing?"

She shrugged, with a small, doubtful look on her face. "Nothing that merits an award." She said, a bitter emphasis on the last word. She lowered her eyes to the table, where she was drumming her now-short fingernails. She hesitated, and then looked him in the eye with defiance. "What about you?"

He looked at her curiously. She seemed slightly accusatory. Did she still hate him underneath all the loneliness? Loneliness can do terrible things. He should know. "Nothing important." He heard a song he recognized being sung by the performer, and closed his eyes. He listened for a moment. He knew the song, but couldn't figure where he had heard it.

_In every heart there is a room  
A sanctuary safe and strong  
To heal the wounds from lovers past  
Until a new one comes along_

"What are you doing?" It was Shannon, not rude, just inquisitive.

"I don't know where I've heard this song." He said, opening his eyes. She cocked her head slightly and listened.

_I spoke to you in cautious tones  
You answered me with no pretense  
And still I feel I said too much  
My silence is my self defense _

And every time I've held a rose  
It seems I only felt the thorns  
And so it goes, and so it goes  
And so will you soon I suppose

But if my silence made you leave  
Then that would be my worst mistake

"It's Billy Joel." Shannon said softly. They were quiet together until the end.

_So I will share this room with you  
And you can have this heart to break _

And this is why my eyes are closed  
It's just as well for all I've seen  
And so it goes, and so it goes  
And you're the only one who knows

So I would choose to be with you  
That's if the choice were mine to make  
But you can make decisions too  
And you can have this heart to break

And so it goes, and so it goes  
And you're the only one who knows

After the song was over, they didn't speak, neither seeming to want to break the spell.

Finally Shannon laughed a little. "How do you know Billy Joel music?"

Sayid smiled. "I don't know." He took a sip of his coffee and watched her settle back; her head leaned against the booth.

A thought popped into his head. "Are you going to the wedding?"

Shannon bit her lip. "I got an invitation." She told him. "I don't know why, though. I was a bitch to everyone." A look of amusement flitted across her face. "_Don't_ say I wasn't. I… I don't know if I want to go. I mean, seeing Claire and Charlie… seeing everyone again would be weird. Weird and hard. I don't know." she said again. "It made me kind of happy that they wanted me to come, though." She added.

"Then you should go." Sayid insisted, but when she didn't reply, he didn't press her.

"Why New York?" she asked after a moment. "You don't seem the type."

He didn't know how to answer. Why did he live in New York? He hated it. The noise, the crowds, the materialism… everything made him feel angry or lost or out of place. He would much rather be living… where? Not a place on the earth seemed right for him.

"I'm _not_ the type." He finally said. "I don't find it agreeable at all. But…" he searched for the words. "I don't feel up to moving… again. I've gotten sick of moving." He decided. "Every bit of restlessness I've ever had is gone."

Shannon looked hesitant.

"What?"

"Um," she said. "So… you stopped looking for Nadia?" She blushed a little, looking sorry she'd brought up the subject.

He inhaled deeply. "I didn't know you knew about Nadia."

She looked embarrassed. "Apparently you weren't in on the island gossip." She twirled the straw around in her drink nerovusly, looking intently at it.

He raised his eyebrows slightly. "To answer your question, yes. I looked for her for a month or so after we were rescued. But… I…" He leaned forward, wanting so much for her to understand. "I was afraid to continue searching for her. I was afraid to discover she was dead or taken captive. Or worse, I was afraid… I was afraid I would spend my whole life looking and never finding, wasting years and years just to die and never be rewarded." He paused. "Eight years since I last saw her." He sighed heavily.

He heard Shannon sniffle. He looked up, alarmed. She was crying again, large teardrops were falling out of the corners of her eyes.

"What? What is it? I'll stop talking of Nadia, I know it's not a good subject-"

"We're the people in the song." She interrupted, and there was deep sorrow in her voice.

He looked at her, confused.

"The Billy Joel song." She explained, trying to stop her tears. She angrily rubbed at her eyes, making the mascara smudges worse. "And every time I've held a rose, it seems I only felt the thorns. And so it goes, and so it goes and so will you soon I suppose." She recited. Her voice caught halfway through, and she was really crying now.

Sayid saw the couple behind her turn to stare. He glared at them.

"We can't let go. You can't let go of Nadia. I can't let go of Boone. But here we are, and we can't pull ourselves out of… whatever we're in, and it _sucks._" She exclaimed loudly. Sayid knew better than to try to calm her. "And you're here, right across from me, you, you care about me, and came all this way to see me, and I can't _stop_ thinking that I was with _you_ when he died!" She gasped, and put her hands over her mouth in horror. "I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry. I _did not_ mean to say that. Oh my God." She grabbed her coat from the rack beside her and left the café, tripping over her own shoes as she hurried.

"Shannon!" Sayid called after her, but remained seated. Chasing her now would do no good.

* * *

It was dark, and a light drizzle was falling. He stopped at the apartment building. He was sure this was the one. He came in throughthe entranceand walked softly down the hall. Number 309. He knocked on the door. 

Shannon opened it. She was holding a beer in her hand. She was so shocked to see him that she nearly dropped the bottle.

"I didn't think you'd pursue this." She muttered, letting him in.

He stood, hands in pockets in front of her. She set the beer down on a nearby coffee table. She stood awkwardly, not knowing what to do.

"You're right." He informed her.

She stared at him.

He gave her a small, sad smile. "Neither of us can let go of what happened before. I know that. I knew that. But I also know that I love you."

She sat down on the couch. "I _really _didn't think you'd pursue this." She gasped. Then she interlaced her hands and rested her chin on them as if she were praying. "I love you too." She said in wonderment, still staring at him.

Sayid smiled.

"But." She said. _Of course._ "I… don't know what will happen." She said weakly. "I'm afraid."

He sat down next to her, and stroked her hair lovingly. "That's okay."


	7. Claire

A/n Yes. I am very bad. Sorry for taking so long on Chapter 7. And whoa! Thanks for all the reviews. The Billy Joel song from last chapter (oops I should have credited it) is called And So it Goes, and it's a ballad-type thing. The only instrument is piano. Some people might think it sounds boring, but I looove it. :)

**Chapter 7 – Claire**

A warm breeze played with her loose hair. It was a beautiful day, and they were all out on the patio – Charlie, Willie, Liam and herself. Charlie and Liam were talking animatedly and Willie sat on her lap, a well-loved teddy bear in his sticky hands. And Claire knew that she'd never been so happy in her life.

If someone had asked her what her fiancé and his brother were talking about, she wouldn't have been able to say. She wasn't listening to their chatter; instead she was drinking in what she saw. She saw love and friends and happiness. She saw promise and excitement. She saw –

"Willie!" she scolded, as the boy knocked over her iced tea. It spilled all over his face and clothes. He immediately started to howl. Claire stood up, holding the dripping toddler away from her to avoid any more of her drink getting on her white skirt. She set him down on the ground, and he shook his head violently to get the iced tea out of his face.

Charlie stopped talking and turned to look, amused.

Seeing him chuckle, Claire sighed heavily. "It's not funny." She protested over Willie's screams of, "I'm wet, Mommy! Bad!"

Realizing there was no other way, she picked him up again and headed inside. He would need to change, and the sooner she got the stain out of her skirt, the better.

She entered Willie's room. It was small, but she loved it. It had sailboat wallpaper, and his new bed had dinosaurs on the covers. There was a large window looking out on the backyard that made the room cheerful and bright. It smelled like little boy.

Claire set him down on the carpet, thankful it was dark blue, so the iced tea that was still dripping off Willie wouldn't show. Yes, she was one of those neat freaks. She had just reached into the tiny blue bureau when the doorbell rang.

"Charlie, can you get it?" she hollered.

There was no answer, so she quickly put Willie's change of clothes on, and rushed into the hall, pulling him by the hand.

She opened the door to see Sun standing on the front step, looking humble and a little frightened. Her hair was tousled, as if she'd run her fingers through it anxiously, and her arms were crossed in a protective manner. She looked tired, but happy to see Claire.

"Sun!" Claire exclaimed, beaming. "I can't believe you're here! How are you?" She moved to hug her, and then stopped herself, remembering her tea-soaked skirt. "Come on in!" She ushered Sun into the hall and shut the door.

"Charlie!" she yelled again. "Guess who's here?" She turned back to her guest. "He's out on the patio with his brother, Liam. He came all the way from Sydney!"

"Oh." Sun uttered. She tried to cover her obvious disappointment with a small apologetic smile. "I didn't know you had company. I should have known, with your wedding in two weeks. I'm sorry, I'll come again later."

She moved to leave, but Claire shook her head forcefully, and took her by the arm.

"_No way._ It has been way too long since I saw you. You're staying."

Sun's behavior worried Claire. She seemed awkward and frightened. She had always been so passive, of course, but… Claire couldn't quite put her finger on it. Maybe she was jumping to conclusions; it had, after all been seconds since she'd arrived. But, no, as Charlie and Liam bounded into the house jovially like the little boys they once were, and introductions were made, she watched Sun carefully. Something was wrong, and she would put money on it that it had to do with Jin.

* * *

Claire and Sun sat on the living room couch. The boys, as she affectionately called them, had gone for a walk with the stroller. Claire had her shoes off and sat indian-style facing Sun. Sun sat almost primly, legs crossed, her hands folded tightly. Claire saw that her knuckles were white, and her face was still strained.

"So," Claire began seriously. "What's wrong?"

Sun smiled sheepishly. "I am not a good liar, am I?" She looked down at her lap, and sighed. "Could I have some tea?" she asked off-subject. "It calms my nerves."

"That bad, huh?" Claire said, sympathy in her voice. Sympathy for what? She wondered, getting up.

As the kettle whistled, Sun began timidly. "I remember we spoke on the telephone a few times. I think that last I spoke to you, everything was fine. Jin and I were very happy. You remember how he and I were, after the raft sunk but they all managed to survive? When they washed up on shore, just a few miles from where they'd left… I thought I was the luckiest person in the world. When they left, on that raft, that," She rolled her eyes uncharacteristically. "piece of metal with a few sticks tied to it, I had thought, something horrible's going to happen. This is going to be the last time I ever see his face."

She put a hand to her own ponderously. She leaned on the counter with the mug of tea steaming in her other hand. Her eyes were far away, remembering.

"When they came back, all of them, alive, I loved him more than I ever had, even though he was so disappointed that he didn't save me. And he was angry, but not at me, so it was all right. And when the ship came, he was angry, because he never got to be my rescuer, my hero. He didn't _know_ that he already was!" she said, tears forming in her eyes and her soft voice wobbling.

"Not the angry man he is now, but who he used to be! Before he was obsessed with controlling me and keeping secrets and trying to _save _me!"

Claire didn't know what to say. She took a few Kleenexes and handed them to Sun. She watched the forlorn figure who she had grown so close to. Sun had babysat Willie countless times. She had sat beside Claire at night when it was too hot to sleep. They had talked about everything and nothing. And then they were rescued. And they'd only spoken over the phone a few times in … had it really been almost five months since they were off the island? It seemed like only a few weeks ago. _Some friends are for a reason, some for a season, and some for a lifetime. _She heard the rhyme in her head. Which was Sun?

"I don't understand." She said quietly. "Why are you here now? Wasn't everything going well?"

Sun nodded. "Yes. Things went all right after we were rescued. We were happy. We said we'd stay in the United States for a while, see what Jin could make of himself here. I was proud of him. I think he was finally proud of himself, too." She paused and took a shaky breath.

"Then one day, I came home from the grocery store, and he was on the telephone with someone. I didn't know who it was, and he hung up and wouldn't tell me. We got in an argument, and he struck me across the face. He's hit me before, but… it was like…" she searched for the right words. "It was like he had hate in his fists. He hated me then."

"Oh, Sun." Claire let out a breath slowly. "I'm so sorry."

"After that, he would hit me often, just because he was angry. And it would hurt so much. Not the bruises," Sun said, her voice dropping to a whisper as if he were a room away. "The fact that I realized I was married to a completely different man than I knew before. That somewhere along the way… I did something wrong to make him this way."

"It's not your fault!" Claire said, suddenly furious. "It was wrong, what he did to you, and nothing you might have done could make that okay!" She slapped her hand down on the table, making Sun jump. "Don't put the blame on yourself, don't." Claire said sadly. She couldn't bear the thought of Sun, sweet, soft-spoken Sun going through her life thinking it was her fault.

Sun looked at Claire, perplexed, but she didn't argue. She looked tired, very tired. She continued on. "So two days ago, I left. I left like I planned I would all those months back before the plane crash. I took his money, Claire." She said, wide-eyed and shocked at her own actions. "I abandoned my husband and I stole from him." She spoke wonderingly.

"Then we'll pay him back." Claire said defiantly. "Send him money through the mail. You can't go back to him, Sun."

And Sun looked at Claire, and she looked back. Claire's anger was written across her face, and Sun's grief and shame across hers. Tension was high; they could hear it buzzing in their ears.

Claire broke the silence. "We can talk about this later." She looked at her friend and tried to smile. "Do you know what we need right now?"

"What?"

"We need Oreos with peanut butter." Claire got up from her chair and headed for the kitchen. Sun followed, smiling now as well, and Claire could tell that she was glad the subject was changed for the moment.

"I've never had those." Sun said shyly.

Claire spun around, mock horror on her face. "You haven't lived." She said dramatically.

As she busied herself making their snack, Claire wondered if what she had just said was true. Sun hadn't lived fully. Sun had lived her life in shadow. _Not anymore._


	8. Sun

**A/N Sorry again for taking so long! I place all the blame completely on school.**

**Chris 3137 - Thanks! Your reviewsare especially nice, andI really appreciate it.**

**acsbabyangelgirl - heehee. No, Claire isn't pregnant again. I'll have you know that peanut butter on oreos is a snack enjoyed by many un-pregnant people... or maybe it's just me... : )**

**Chapter 8 – Sun**

Sun woke with a start, a feeling of panic exploding in her head. She felt as if there was a large weight on her ribs. She sat up and looked frantically around. Everything was unfamiliar. Where was she?

Then she remembered – she was in Claire and Charlie's living room, on their couch, tangled in blankets. She knew where she was, but still felt stricken with panic.

It was raining; she could hear the soft patter coming from outside the window. Sun rose from the couch and walked to the window. She was wearing her white nightgown, the one with the blue ribbon at the collar. She had left her slippers at home. Her feet were cold. She sat down on the pretty window seat, looking out over the backyard. It was beautifully landscape, she thought idly, trying to distract herself from replaying the last two days in her head. But she began thinking about it anyway.

She had known something was wrong that day at the airport. She was going to run away from him, had every intention of leaving. She had been so frightened that night he came home with blood all over him.

But she hadn't left that day. Why? She had asked herself as she realized her nerve was failing her. Because something was so wrong.

_He was escaping._ She remembered realizing. _He's trying to get away; he's still a good man!_ And she stayed with him. And the plane crashed and he didn't have to run any more… from whoever he was running from.

She dared not ask about it, because she didn't want to know. She was too afraid.

A clap of thunder resounded through her ears, shaking the house. It took Sun by such surprise that for a moment she thought it was a gunshot. Her hands flew to her mouth in terror before she realized it was just a storm. Her heart slowed a little, but she could still hear it, feel it aching.

She started to cry again. Soundless tears trickled down her face. She wanted to go home, home to Jin. She didn't care what happened if she stayed with him. She was convinced that it didn't matter; he would protect her from anything. She would be safe.

Jin never hit her.

Not once.

She'd lied to Claire. He had told her to.

* * *

That morning had been like any other. When she woke, Jin was already up, having taken a shower and made coffee. Sun put on her bathrobe and began her puttering around, making the bed, folding the towels. They comforted her, these odd jobs. Everything was being put into order.

Just before Jin was about to leave for work, there was a telephone call, and he answered it.

The moment he heard who was on the other line, his face fell, and he turned a sickly white color.

"Who is it?" Sun asked, alarmed.

He waved his hand at her, motioning for her to leave. There was pleading in his eyes. But she stayed seated at the table. If there was one thing she learned on the island, she needed to hold her ground every once in a while. And she needed to be a part of this. She knew this phone call had to do with whoever had been chasing Jin, and she was going to find out. It was time to stop being left in the dark, she had thought defiantly.

Jin muttered something into the phone that she couldn't hear. He looked at her again, almost pitiful, silently begging, and again, she said, "Who is it?"

He glared at her for not leaving and stormed out of the kitchen. She immediately followed him, angry now, throwing enraged questions on deaf ears.

Jin slammed the bathroom door and locked it. Sun began to scream at him.

"I'm sick of secrets! What can be so important, Jin? Why are you doing this to me?" She banged her fists fiercely on the door, and when he wouldn't answer, she leaned her forehead against the door in despair. Would he always be this way? She thought the lies and secrets had stopped.

She put her ear to the door, desperately trying to hear what he was urgently whispering into the phone. And then the doorknob turned, and he was facing her, a mixture of outrage and naked fear. He sighed deeply, and Sun knew from the defeated look on his face that he was going to explain.

He pressed the power button several times on the telephone. He raised it to the side of his face to be sure he couldn't hear the dial tone. There was no one on the other end.

And then he told her everything. The violence, the deceit. How he'd hated it. How he'd tried so hard to escape. How he'd been followed, how he'd feared for his life, but mostly hers. He thought they'd finally left him alone after the plane crash. And just now, they had called again, with threats to return immediately to Korea, or suffer the consequences.

And then he told her to run, because he couldn't bear to put her into danger. He looked down at the tiled floor when he said this, as if he was ashamed at how much he had already put her through.

"I don't care." Sun told him defiantly. "I want to stay with you. I have to."

"No." He said simply, holding her firmly by the shoulders. "We need to separate. At least until this dies down. I'll move again, change my name…"

Sun pulled away, completely horrified by what he was saying. She was suddenly very dizzy, and specks of black dotted the corners of her vision.

"How will I find you?" She asked, small and numb.

He looked at her, and she could see how much pain he was going through; more than hers, because _he_ was the one sending her away. Somehow it made her feel a little stronger.

"_I _will find _you._"

"Soon?" She whispered.

"Soon."

And slowly, she walked up the mountainous stairs and packed her suitcase.

* * *

Presently, she wrapped her arms around her knees like a miserable schoolgirl.

Not all fairy tales end happily, she thought. To emphasize her point, the thunder shook the house again, and Willie woke up screaming.

Sun listened to Claire and Charlie as they went into their son's room and spoke softly and reassuringly, comforting him until he was calm again.

She wished more than anything that someone would comfort her instead.


	9. Walt

**A/N **I know I've been absolutely terrible with this long wait before I've updated. My only excuse is that the end of school has been completely hectic and unbearable. It's all uphill from here, though. I promise I'll update sooner next time.

**Chapter 9 – Walt**

The drone of the teacher's bored voice mixed pleasantly with the hum of the fan. Walt was leaning on his binders, his chin resting on his arm. It was really hot in here. Really hot… and really a waste of time. He was fine without school on the island, wasn't he? In fact, he had had to miss the entirety of fourth grade because of last year. He was fine with that; it didn't really matter one way or another, because he was convinced that school was useless.

Walt guessed that in one way school was okay. He had made some friends _– friends_ his own age, kids to hang out with, not like Mr. Locke on the island. They would leave school on Fridays and walk a few blocks to get some pizza; they would go to the movies and throw popcorn at the people in front of them. Walt smiled a little in the stuffy classroom.

He yawned, trying to keep his eyes open, but knowing that he wouldn't be able to. _Mrs. Hendrickson is going to be so mad if she catches me asleep_, Walt thought idly. Nevertheless, he slipped into sleep and began to dream.

* * *

He was in the apartment alone. Besides the blue flicker of the television, it was dark. Walt was feeling uneasy about the thick blackness, so he turned to switch on the lamp that was always beside the couch. With a click, light flooded the room, and Walt gave a startled and frightened yell when he discovered that he was, after all, not alone. There was someone sitting still, peaceably in the armchair in the living room. 

It was the fisherman.

The man who had kidnapped Walt and taken him to a different part of the island, the man who had tied him up against a tree and laughed, the man who had tried to kill him was sitting, hands folded, pleasant smile on his face in _his_ living room.

Walt sat, frozen, staring at the man.

"Hello, Walter." The fisherman drawled, speaking in a surprisingly friendly manner. "I've come to have a little chat with you. I just wanted to know a few things."

Walt stayed where he was, unable to move for fear. His eyes were wide and unbelieving. _This is a dream,_ he realized as he thought. _It's just a dream, it's just a dream._ He chanted in his head.

"Or is it?" The fisherman said in a pondering voice, making Walt's heart jump into his throat. _Wake up!_ He screamed in his mind.

"Not until I've asked a few questions." The fisherman reprimanded. He leaned forward eagerly. "How did you escape? I've never understood how you could stop me from my plan. I knew you had powers, but… so strong, for such a child… it's fascinating. How do you control them I wonder?"

"I don't know." Walt said stiffly.

"Come, of course you know." The kidnapper goaded. "You were tied to a tree. You couldn't escape. You had no weapons. How did you stop me?" Frustration surfaced on his craggy face. He slammed his fist on the arm of the chair. Walt jumped. "How did you get away from me?"

Walt tried not to let the images flood back into his memory (he had tried so hard to forget) but pictures, sounds and emotions came forward into his mind.

* * *

Tied to a tree, he had struggled until every bit of energy had left his arms and legs. He leaned limply against the rope that held him and waited for something to happen – rescue or death, it didn't matter. Just… something. 

If it could get any darker, it did, and Walt was very alone in the dark forest. Odd creakings echoed around him, and he may have been imagining it, but he seemed to hear whispers, soft, foreboding voices. He strained to hear what it was, and after a long while, he did. _It'll all come around._ What did that mean? Who was there? He didn't yell out for help, because he was sure whoever it was wasn't friendly. And when he finally did muster up the courage to shout out for help, no sound came out of his throat.

Walt thought he knew how utterly defenseless he was. If something… a polar bear, the monster, the French lady… _anything_ came near, he wouldn't be able to do anything. And where did that fisherman, that kidnapper go?

And where was help? Why hadn't anyone come to rescue him? And then it dawned on him, as the sun began to rise over the night he had thought would never end. His dad hadn't made it back to shore. Mr. Sawyer and Mr. Jin, too. They were all dead. So no one knew – no one would ever know – what happened.

And that was when Walt was able to scream. He yelled at the top of his lungs ferociously, yelled things he didn't even hear, cried out until someone appeared out of the shadows.

The fisherman, or whoever he was, was advancing on him, and he held a long, glinting knife. He didn't look malicious or angry. In fact his expression was somewhat morose.

"If you don't stop that, I'll have to kill you." The kidnapper told Walt over his screams.

And he wouldn't stop. In his panicked mind, he believed it was his last hope, his last chance for Jack or Kate or someone to come and save him. But no one came towards him, except for the fisherman and his knife.

The fisherman stood over him, now, the knife poised in the air. "Stop, boy. Stop and I'll be able to send you back to your people." His voice heightened to match Walt's hoarse one.

_He was lying, he had to be. Liar. Murderer._

"But if you continue on, I'll make sure no one ever discovers why you all disappeared."

Walt looked the fisherman square in the eye, glaring with such piercing hate that the kidnapper faltered, and defiantly shouted until he thought he would pass out. "Daaaaaad!"

And amazingly, inexplicably, the kidnapper suddenly keeled backwards, the knife hitting the sand at Walt's feet with a soft thud. The fisherman lay sprawled in the sand, unmoving, as if dead. How could that have happened? He stared for a moment.

And then Walt ran. He ran all day in the direction he knew was the beach where the survivors were camped. Mr. Locke had showed him. He ran without stopping, and in the late afternoon, arrived in front of the astounded Charlie and Claire. His knees buckled and he dropped to the sand. It was only then that he wondered where the rope that had tied him so tightly to the tree had gone.

Michael, Jin and Sawyer washed up a day later, resting on a floating part of what used to be the raft. And Walt felt safe again.

* * *

Still asleep, he looked up at the kidnapper. "I _don't know _how I did stuffI still don't know. All I know is that after we got off the island, all the weird things ended. I can't do anything anymore. Leave me alone." 

The fisherman gaped at him. "It's… gone?" He furrowed his brow. "Gone." He muttered to himself.

He stood up, and advanced on Walt, who remained on the couch, too stiff and afraid to move. The fisherman didn't look malicious, and this surprised Walt. He was defeated, his whole purpose gone. He slowly reached out his hand.

Walt realized he wanted to shake hands. _Like a gentleman._

"I don't know who you are," Walt said carefully, not extending his own hand. "And I don't think I ever will. But I want you to leave. Now."

The fisherman's solemn face broke out in a smile. He laughed, and to Walt's utter surprise, slapped him on the back as if he was an old friend. He jolted up, shocked at the contact. Bright light hurt his eyes, and he heard a couple of snickers.

He had woken up. He blinked. There was no dark living room, only a classroom full of giggling kids and an angry teacher.

Walt shuddered a little.

"Well?" Mrs. Hendrickson asked, waiting.

"Sorry." Walt apologized. "I guess I was just dreaming." And with his heart still pounding, somehow he knew he was lying.


	10. Jack

**Chapter 10 – Jack**

"Listen, I'd really like to come for dinner, Mark, but I can't." Jack spoke into his cell phone as he drove on the highway.

"Jack. You are the most antisocial man I have ever met. What is your excuse this night? And don't use 'I'm going to the cemetery with my Mom' again, it's so depressing. I just thought it _might _do you some good to, I don't know, _converse_ with people, maybe even – and I know it sounds completely outlandish – maybe even have a good time?" Jack's friend's voice was heavy with sarcasm, and it irked him to no end.

"Actually," he interrupted, speaking unnecessarily loudly into the phone, "I'm on my way to visit Kate." He changed lanes smoothly. The exit was coming up.

There was a pause on the other end. "Oh." Mark said finally. "Um. Sorry." Another beat passed before he spoke again. "How is she?"

Jack shrugged involuntarily. "I'm still not sure. I mean, she has her bad days... At least she's trying to eat, though she isn't gaining much weight yet."

"She talking now?"

"Sometimes she talks to one of her roommates." He said quietly. He hated even to think about how secluded Kate had made herself, all those months. He felt a familiar pang of guilt, like he always did when he thought of how he'd abandoned her.

"It's not your fault, you know." Mark said tentatively, as if he'd read his friend's mind.

He'd reached the exit. He was suddenly anxious to get off the phone. "Yeah. Hey, Mark."

"Huh?"

"How about dinner tomorrow?"

"Okay. Have a good visit."

And he hung up, just as the prison loomed up into sight.

* * *

She wasn't there when he sat down at the visitor's center. He looked around at the other people in the room. The women with their guests looked tired, but like they were trying their best to seem happy. Some of their visitors didn't catch on, didn't notice the façade playing before their eyes, and spoke animatedly. One couple, over on a couch was laughing. The one that was a prisoner, who wore that hideous orange jumpsuit, was hunched over, and though she was laughing, her eyes were melancholy, and her hands laced together, her knuckles white, as if she was trying to hold herself together. On the other side of the spectrum, some groups were subdued, and they didn't attempt to hide their unhappiness. He could hear someone crying from where he sat. Jack idly wondered which way Kate would be today. You could never really guess.

Then he turned and saw one of the guards in their drab gray uniforms open the door, and Kate walked through, already searching. Her eyebrows were raised, making her look almost surprised. Jack quickly noted that though she looked energized enough, her face was still tinged with gray, and there were dark circles under her darting eyes.

She had spotted him. "Jack!" she exclaimed loudly, and to his surprise, ran up to him like a small, excited child and gave him a tight hug. For someone so skinny, she was still strong.

"You're crushing my arms, Kate." He said, grinning. Apparently, it was a good day.

She pulled back and looked up at his face. "Sorry." Her smile was wide and eager.

They sat down at the circular gray table. Kate immediately pulled her chair closer to his, and it made a loud scraping noise along the floor.

"So," she said, "How goes the life of the dashing, charming surgeon?" She sounded more like herself than she had since Jack had seen her. He was glad; because it was time they talked about something he had been allowing her to avoid the past couple of weeks, and he hadn't felt like he could talk about it if she was already melancholy.

'Not bad," he told her. It would be best if he got down to business and got it over with, right? "Listen, Kate, I – "

But Kate interrupted suddenly. "Oh! I wanted to know, are you going to Charlie and Claire's wedding? They actually sent me a letter, saying how sorry they were that I couldn't come, and sorry I'd been sick… it was really nice."

"You still _are_ sick, and no, I'm not going." Jack said stoically.

Kate twisted a curl of hair around her finger absently, a slightly concerned frown on her face. "Why not? I'd give anything to go."

Jack sighed. "Kate. I need to change the subject, okay? We _need _to talk about something before I go. We've been avoiding it every time I've visited, and-"

Kate knew what he was about to say, it was written all over her suddenly panicked face. Her hands dropped to her lap dejectedly. Then, as if she'd changed her mind, they fluttered up to her face. She pressed her palms against her eyes.

"Not today, Jack. I was in such a good mood…" she said, a plea in her voice.

Jack knew this would be her reaction, but it still disappointed him. Much as he himself would like to chatter on with the Kate he knew on the island, instead of the drawn, tired girl he had been seeing lately, it needed to be brought up.

"No, Kate." He said as gently as he could. "We need to talk about your trial. I know you don't want to, but… at least give me a few details. Have you met with your lawyer?"

She brought her hands down, and he saw that she had already transformed back into the sad, worried post-island Kate. She sniffled a little, but she wasn't crying. She bit her lip. "Yeah. Once." Jack looked at her expectantly, wanting her to elaborate.

"He was okay, I guess. He knows all about me and everything." She shrugged, her eyes fixated on the table surface. Jack heard her tap her foot against the floor as if she was already bored with the conversation. _If you could call it that._ Jack thought sardonically. He watched her until she glanced up.

Exasperated, Kate rolled her eyes like a disgusted teenager. "What do you want me to say? It's hopeless! Everything I've been charged with is true. Everything I'm charged with is really what I did."

She hit the arm of her chair with her palm, enunciating every word. "I'm here. For. What I did. And there's no excuse, no explanation that will change the goddamn jury's mind, Jack." She glared, but he knew she wasn't glaring at him – her ferocity was directed towards herself. She leaned forward.

"Thirty years in prison. That's what he said it could be." Her voice caught. "I would be fifty-seven. I would be _fifty-seven._" She repeated. And then she exhaled a long, labored breath. She closed her eyes for a second, and then opened them, blinking hard.

And Jack knew Kate was relieved to have finally said it. She sat slumped in her chair, almost deflated of all the bottled up thoughts she had let out. Her mouth was in a hard, thin line, severe and unforgiving. Her bony arms were wrapped around herself like they always were when she was trying to protect herself. She was trying to hold herself together, still blinking angrily at unwanted tears.

Jack leaned across the table and put his hands on her cheeks lovingly. She looked up at him mournfully. Jack smiled sadly.

"And I'll be sixty-one and waiting for you."

Kate laughed softly through her tears. "I believe you." she said after a moment.

A security guard barked loudly, addressing the whole room full of people. "Visiting hour is over!"

And chairs scraped, goodbyes were said, and feet scuffled. Finally, reluctantly, Jack let go of Kate. He turned to go, and was halfway across the room, when he heard Kate call him.

"Hey Jack?"

He turned to face her again, his hands in his pockets. She remained seated although the last of the other prisoners were already walking back to their cells.

She nodded. "Go to the wedding. You were our savior. And I think…" She stood up at the impatient urging of the security guard. "I think to most of us, you still are."

She smiled a little, that familiar crooked grin, and was escorted out of the room.


	11. Jin

**A/N I might as well stop apologizing for the long waits between chapters. We should all just admit I'm hopeless. Anyway. I'm looking for this fic to be about three more chapters, just so y'all know. **

Jin shrugged on his long black coat with relief. The day was finally over. Hours at his new job crawled on and on, making the two weeks he had been in Chicago feel like months. He worked in a ugly brick building, a drab, dimly lit office with identical cubicles on every floor. Here he would sit for a whole day trying to be polite to the idiots who worked beside him. He had no respect for them, and it was certain they had none for him, judging by the joking behind his back that he was sure was about him. Everyone looked down on him because of his flawed English and his melancholy manner. He would like to see them learn _Korean_, he thought bitterly. He would like them to repeatedly try running away from murderers and thieves, leaving behind his loving, loyal wife, the one person who had stuck by him through it all. How would _they _like it, those obnoxious Americans?

Jin shook his head, trying to rid himself of the depressing thoughts that had so often plagued him. The day was over, he could finally go and write his letter.

He stepped out of the door, and a chilling rain immediately began to drip on his shoulders and head. His patience was definitely being tested today. Shoving his hands in his pockets dejectedly, he trudged down the busy sidewalk to the small, quiet café he had visited every evening since he had arrived. This was where he routinely wrote his letter to Sun. A place loud and occupied enough that he wouldn't get too down on himself, but not so bustling that he couldn't think.

The bell above the entrance jingled merrily as he stepped into the café. The happy chatter of the place seemed to contradict his mood immensely, so much so the Jin considered going back to his apartment to write. But he sat down at a table in the corner, and pulled out the small pad of paper that had been in his deep pocket. Setting it down, he bent over it and began.

_Dear Sun, _

_Your aunt and I have been well, though bored and anxious to go home from our vacation. The hotel is not what we expected; it is lonely and ugly. It has not been very exciting, though we haven't yet met anyone we do not like. That is all we can really ask for. We still aren't sure how long we will be here, but when we are through, we will come to visit as soon as possible. We hope you are well,_

_Uncle Minh_

Jin read carefully over his coded letter. It was brief but reassuring, as always. The vacation was his escape from Mr. Paik. By 'hotel' he meant 'city'. The people he didn't like were, of course, anyone trying to follow him and threaten him.

He wondered for the millionth time if it was wise to send these to Sun. _Why not_, he answered himself. _No name, no return address, no real information. _And who would read them except for Sun anyhow?

Before he could change his mind, he folded the letter closed and walked through the rain to the post office, which was luckily just a block away. Dropping his reassurance to Sun into the blue mailbox, he felt a bit of relief himself. Knowing it would calm Sun a bit calmed him too.

Now he would have to go back to his makeshift home, his small infested apartment; rats, cockroaches and mold were his company there. He was afraid to spend more money on an apartment that was temporary. _And he wasn't being paid very much from his new boss anyway_, he thought grimly.

The sky was darkening, from both the rain and the night. He looked at his watch, his one valuable object. It shone cleanly at him, and though he'd seen it a million times, he admired it for a moment. It was 6:15.

Walking down the street uninterestedly, Jin looked straight ahead. It was unusually quiet on the streets of Chicago. Even the brightly lit stores looked empty.

Then Jin saw something, or rather some_one_ out of the corner of his eye that made him start. Down a dirty alleyway was a man lighting up a cigarette. He was kind of tall, with tattered jeans and a plain T-shirt. His shoulder-length blonde hair partially covered his face, but Jin was struck by how remarkably like Sawyer he looked.

The Sawyer look-alike didn't see Jin, he was focused on his lighter. When he was satisfied, he turned back and began walking farther down the alley, away from Jin.

He wanted to shout out to the retreating man, but didn't want to look like a fool if it wasn't Sawyer. Curiosity got the better of him, and Jin began down the dark alley himself, hoping to get a better look.

But the man turned a corner and went out of sight.

Jin stopped, debating with himself if he should go on. It didn't look particularly safe down there, and what were the chances that it _was_ Sawyer? He decided to go back to the street, but as he spun around, was surprised to see himself facing someone who he didn't really want to face.

He had never seen him before, this maliciously grinning man. He looked like he was in his late twenties or so, but it was hard to tell through the grime and the dark, scraggly beard.

Feeling the beginnings of panic, Jin tried to sidestep him, but the stranger shoved him roughly against the crumbling wall.

Shouting something Jin didn't understand, he forcefully punched him in the eye. Jin cried out.

"What? What do you want?" Jin shouted back, fear now pouring into him. Who was this man? Had he been following him? Was he one of Paik's men?

"Gimmee your wallet." The man growled, his fists clenched, ready to strike out again.

As Jin fumbled for his leather wallet, he heard the man say, "And I really like the watch you were showin' off a second ago."

Jin handed him his wallet, trying not to let him see his shaking hands. The man still stood there, still grinning insanely. One of his front teeth was missing.

"Watch?" the thief prompted expectantly, his hand out in front of him as if he was a greedy child.

_Not my watch,_ Jin begged silently.

"I do not have –"

But he was roughly pushed again, followed by another punch, this one in the stomach. Jin doubled over, clutching his stomach protectively. He had hit his head on the wall this time, and he wondered if he was bleeding. He stood up straight after a moment, and looked the man in the eye.

"I do not have a watch." He said clearly, but he was already wondering what the use was. The thief had obviously seen his watch.

The man was getting irritated. He raised his hand again, Jin braced himself, but the blow never came. Instead, the thief froze, and turned to his side, suddenly afraid.

Puzzled, Jin turned to see what had stopped him.

A pistol was steadily being pointed at the thief's heart. "Careful there, Bandito." A strong southern voice said. Jin couldn't help but smile. It was Sawyer, all right.

The thief put his hands up, and slowly and wordlessly backed away. When he was about ten feet from Jin, he spun around and ran, stumbling as he went, until he turned the street corner.

Sawyer lowered his gun and chuckled. "Weeeeell."

He glanced over at Jin, who was trying to hide his astonishment.

"Never thought I'd see you again." He drawled, obviously amused. "Thought you and your darlin' wife'd be back in Taiwan by now."

Jin reached up and dabbed at his forehead. He _was_ bleeding. "Korea." He corrected, stepping away from the wall.

If anyone else had made the nationality mistake Sawyer had just made, Jin would have been offended. But considering the circumstances, it was all right.

"And I never really saw you as the kind of person who would save my life, but…"Jin joked, his panic subsiding.

Sawyer raised his eyebrows, a faint smile on his face,and put the gun in his pocket, pulling his shirt down over it. Jin decided not to ask what exactly Sawyer was _doing_, so casually keeping a gun in his pocket.

"I guess we're square now, huh?" Sawyer said after a moment.

"What?"

"You saved my life that night on the raft." He explained. "I'd a drowned." He grinned sheepishly. Then he lowered his eyes as if embarrassed and scuffed the ground with his boot.

Jin slid down against the wall and sat. "What are you doing in Chicago?"

Sawyer stood awkwardly for a moment, then sat down too, feet still firmly planted on the ground, legs slightly apart. He rested his elbows on his knees. "Business." He said briefly. "You?"

Jin actually considered telling Sawyer the whole story of Paik and his escape from Korea, the threatening phone calls, and his second run away. Surely Sawyer could relate somehow. He seemed the type to run away from things too, though he knew it wasn't because he was a coward. But Jin silently reprimanded himself. He should involve no one in this. That's what he'd thought even about Sun for a long while. It would only cause bad things.

"Business." He finally said, just as briefly. He wondered idly what Sawyer's 'business' was.

"How's the lady?" Sawyer asked mock-reverently, but Jin knew he meant nothing by it.

Jin smiled; hoping his face didn't reflect his inward pain. "She is good. She misses home, I think. I-"

"You speak good English." Sawyer said abruptly, seemingly just realizing that Jin wasn't blubbering on in Korean any longer.

"Thank you. If I have to live in America, I should learn its language."

"_Have to?"_ Sawyer repeated questioningly, but when Jin did answer, realizing his error and afraid to say more, he let it go.

"Goin' to the wedding?"

Jin furrowed his brow. It took a moment for him to realize what he was talking about.

"Ah. Claire and Charlie's. No, I will still be here. Are you?"

Sawyer ran his fingers through his hair. "I sure would love to have a blast from the past, but this little meeting has been enough for me, thanks." He said with a note of sarcasm.

Jin suddenly noticed how bizarre this whole experience was. Ten minutes ago, he was walking down the street, bored and lonely. Then he was mugged and beaten up. Now he was sitting on the ground and having a normal, amiable conversation with Sawyer, of all people.

Sawyer seemed to notice the oddness of it at the same moment.

"Well, this is just so touching." He drawled, smiling as he did so. "But I got to be somewhere. Glad I could save your life." He stood up, wiping the seat of his pants and nodding at Jin.

Jin stood up and held out his hand. Sawyer shook it. Sawyer touched his finger to his forehead briefly in a kind of salute, and headed toward the corner of the alley he had previously been going down. Then he turned.

"Hey." He called to Jin. "What was in your wallet?"

Jin grinned. "Three dollars."

Sawyer chuckled again, then turned and kept walking, talking over his shoulder. "Mugging: three dollars. Running into your old buddy from whack job island: priceless."


	12. Sawyer

**A/N - Alasse, you got your wish... haha**

**Thanks, as always, for your reviews, guys!**

It had been drizzling all day, but it seemed that after he and Jin had parted ways, there was more rain than air. He'd never seen so much damn rain in his life. And here he was, stuck in it all, no car, no money for a taxi, and at least another mile to go. Just his luck. By the time Sawyer reached his destination, he was soaked to the skin. His shirt stuck to his chest and his hair was dripping onto his shoulders. Shivering violently, all he could think of was warm clothes and the monotonous hum of the heater.

But once Sawyer arrived, he wondered why the hell he'd wanted to be there so much. He was wet and cold, yeah, but… there were worse things. Like his grandmother complaining and his idiot cousin Mitchell annoying him. Yeah, he wasn't at a rowdy bar or a whorehouse like everyone he knew would probably assume he'd be. He was at his dying grandmother's apartment.

It was an ugly, crumbling condo building on a relatively quieter road of Chicago's usually bustling streets. In fact, it was located in a sketchy looking alleyway that always seemed dark and foreboding. It was what his grandmother could afford, and she used to be able to protect herself from whatever came her way. Besides, the place fitted her personality. _She was the devil reincarnated, after all_, Sawyer thought sardonically.

For an old bag, she was a real whack job. She hobbled along on her cane with a sinister expression that was a mix of a monstrous pout and a grimace. She growled and grumbled and yelled in her low-pitched, ever-angry voice. Now she was bed-ridden with a bad case of pneumonia, and refused to go to the hospital or be examined by a doctor.

"Why the hell not?" Sawyer had argued with her over the phone.

"Don't you tell me what to do, James Ford." She'd shrieked at him. He had had to remove the phone from his ear and held it away until she'd stopped screaming.

So he'd been forced to drive nine hours in his rusty, unreliable pickup to wait for her to croak. Maybe he wasn't thinking very graciously of her, okay, he _knew _he wasn't, but it was hard to think pleasant thoughts of his Dad's family.

They had never done anything for him, not one of them, and yet he felt obligated to take care of his grandmother. Why? Hell if he knew. But here he was, wishing he wasn't. He hesitated at the front step, looking gloomily at the door. His mind had ceased to be on his lousy grandmother, and had wandered back to Jin. He wondered where his wife was. Why had Jin said he had to stay in America?

"Huh." He sad quietly. Maybe there were more people after that damn crash running from something than he thought. Freckles… yeah she was caught, but she'd a got away if the crash hadn't happened. He didn't know how she would have, but she'd have found a way. She was tricky. Seemed like once they were rescued, she had run out of gas. She looked all deflated, like all her escaping had finally caught up on her. But if they hadn't been on that island so long… he was confident that she would have been fine. _Probably the doc's fault. _He probably convinced her somehow to give herself up. He was the kind of person who would do that.

Sawyer wondered how the old doc was anyways. Saving lives of other people, no doubt. Miracle doctor! Selfless, kind Jack the hero! Sawyer was getting annoyed just thinking about him. What Freckles had seen in that guy, he'd never know. Jack was just an obnoxious goody-goody asshole. He would, of course, be going to the wedding so people could adore him there. Sawyer snorted, thinking about the whole sickening image. If there was one person he couldn't stand on that island, it was Jack.

If it had been Jack getting mugged down that alleyway instead of Jin, Sawyer might have considered joining that street bum in beating him up.

"Hey James, what're you doing out here? You're soaking wet!" Mitchell had appeared at the door, interrupting Sawyer's train of thoughts. He was nineteen, eager to please like a damn puppy, and completely stupid.

Sawyer wanted to beat the crap out of him. He wasn't in the best of moods to start with, and Mitchell brought out the worst in him.

"Why, so I am!" Sawyer said, looking down at himself in mock-surprise. He looked back up and glared at his cousin, still standing in the rain.

"What were you thinking about, you were miles away." Mitchell snickered. "Is it a _girl_?"

Sawyer finally walked up the steps, scowling at Mitchell murderously. "You are a moron." He said. "You're acting like a fricking twelve year old."

Mitchell wasn't phased. He was used to Sawyer insulting him. Closing the door, he just grinned. "So, where were you all day?"

"Choir practice." Sawyer said sarcastically. "Do we have any beer?" He headed for the kitchen, his shoes squelching every step he took. He was still shivering. It was _cold_ in here.

Mitchell nodded. "Yeah, we have a couple in the fridge… but…"

Sawyer turned, irritated. "But what?"

"But maybe you should change. I mean… you're getting the floor wet." Mitchell said, still smiling stupidly.

"I'm getting the floor wet." Sawyer repeated. The straw that broke the camel's back. "All hell has broken loose, I'm getting the floor wet!" he yelled suddenly. Mitchell was suddenly cowering, taking small steps backward from his cousin.

"It's not a big deal, it's just…"

"You're damn right it's not a big deal. You know, Mitch, I haven't been having myself the dandiest time lately. So, I am going to sit down and have a beer. And you know what? I'm going to get the floor wet. And guess what you're going to do? You're going to shut the hell up and stop pissing me off."

He opened the refrigerator, took out a beer and slammed it down on the table so hard it was surprising that it didn't shatter. Mitchell jumped.

Sawyer glared at his cousin maliciously, but he didn't leave. Mitchell was probably trying to figure him out. Probably wondering, why is James so pissed all the time? What goes through his screwed up head all the time to make him so mean?

"Well, you just don't see, do you?" Sawyer asked, not realizing he was talking out loud.

"Huh?" Mitchell looked at him, perplexed, and a little afraid. Well, good. He _should _be afraid.

"All this death has gotten me down." Sawyer said, trying to explain. He rubbed his forehead. He was getting a headache. His drink sat unopened on the table, and he suddenly had no interest in it. It was sheer pig-headedness, he realized, that he didn't go change into dry clothes. He didn't really want a beer. He was freezing.

He looked up at Mitchell, who was standing in the kitchen's threshold, leaning against the wall, a stupid expression on his face.

"Gram isn't dead yet." Is all Sawyer's idiot cousin said.

"No shit, but she's going to be." Sawyer said frankly. "And after…" he hesitated, not really wanting to be talking about this to anyone, and Mitchell, of all people. _What the hell, _he reasoned_. His whole family thought he was insane anyways. _"And after the plane…" he trailed off, suddenly feeling so vulnerable and weak that he couldn't go on. "Dammit," he muttered, wishing he hadn't started this conversation at all. What was he thinking, divulging in his own private business, his own thoughts, in Mitchell? _Mitchell, of all people._ He thought again. He chanced a look at his cousin, hoping irrationally that his cousin hadn't heard him, or didn't understand.

But Mitchell had a look in his eye, a look that clearly said that even though Sawyer had spoken only a few words, he understood what his cousin was getting at. He looked remorseful, and a bit sorry for him. Rage boiled up in Sawyer. The last thing he wanted was pity. It had been what he was given all his childhood.

"You mean," Mitchell said softly "You're sick of seeing death. The plane crash, and when you were little, your par-"

Sawyer stood up abruptly, feeling cornered. He brushed past his cousin, and walked briskly towards the guest room, where his suitcase full of clothes was. "When's Libby coming to pick you up?" he asked a bit too loudly.

Mitchell paused, clearly wondering how to act in front of his mood-swinging cousin. He gave Sawyer a weird glance, as if he had learned to understand some of him and was trying to learn more. "Oh. My mom's coming at six-thirty." He said. "We're staying in a hotel tonight. It's too cramped here."

Sawyer opened the closed door of the guest room and turned to Mitchell. "Well ain't that a shame. I'll miss saying goodbye to her." Then he closed the door, and hastily found a replacement of clothes and started putting them on. He needed to get out of here as soon as possible. He suddenly felt like he couldn't breathe, and his heart was pounding against his chest. Was he having a heart attack or something? He tried to ignore it, but it was getting worse every second.

He heard Mitchell pounding on the door. "What do you mean? Where are you going?"

Sawyer pulled the pistol out of his wet jeans pocket and put it on the bed. He chose not to answer his cousin, and instead pulled on a new pair of pants and then began throwing every possession of his lying around the room into his suitcase. He was full of rage; at himself for being so stupid and talking to Mitchell, to Mitchell for being a dumb ass (and for not being a dumb ass), to his bitchy grandmother, and to whoever popped into his head at the moment.

Mitchell burst through the door, all pity and fear of Sawyer gone. "Gram's sick, and you're just going to leave?" he demanded angrily. "Where are you going?"

Sawyer never stopped racing around the room. His chest was hurting, and he was breathing hard. Maybe he would die before Gram, he thought wonderingly. "LA." He finally answered Mitchell.

"LA?" Mitchell yelled. "Why? What could possibly –"

"I'm going to a wedding." Sawyer said, suddenly grinning insanely at Mitchell, who was thunderstruck. At first Mitchell didn't say anything.

"Since when?" Mitchell finally protested.

"I just made up my mind this very moment." Sawyer said, zipping up his suitcase.

Mitchell stoically stood in front of the door, arms crossed like a stubborn child. Hell, he _was_ a stubborn child. "I won't let you go."

Sawyer was gasping for breath, but trying not to show it. "Oh no?" In a wild panic, he picked up the gun on the bed and pointed it at Mitchell's head. Though he was in pain and his emotions were haywire, he held the small black pistol steady.

Mitchell let out a low moan as if he'd already been shot. "What are you doing?" he whispered, his eyes suddenly bulging out of his head, his bottom lip quivering a little in fear.

"Let me by." Sawyer said.

But whether it was fear or principle, and Sawyer guessed it was fear, Mitchell didn't move.

An eternity seemed to pass by, with the two of them staring at each other, waiting for the other to do something.

So Sawyer did something. But instead of pulling the trigger, he threw the gun at Mitchell's stomach, hard. Mitchell, in panic, doubled over, but Sawyer doubted he'd hurt him much. Sawyer moved around him, carrying his suitcase. He glanced once more at his cousin, who was pale as a sheet, but quite unharmed. He had turned his head to see Sawyer go, and disbelief was on his face, disbelief and disgust. Not that Sawyer cared what Mitchell thought of him.

"Come on, cuz." Sawyer said, trying to breathe, and still trying to seem unaffected. His face was wet with sweat. "You didn't really think I'd hurt you, did you?" He had tried not to sound bitter, but he knew he did. Then he slammed the door and was out in the rain again.

Once out of sight of his grandmother's home, his suitcase fell from him shaking hand. Sawyer leaned against the narrow wall of the alley and slid down to the ground. All he could hear was his heart beating, getting slower and slower, and his breathing gradually going back to normal. Leaning his head on his knees, Sawyer clenched his teeth together and squeezed his eyes shut.

After a long while like this, he took a deep breath, stood up shakily, and picked up his suitcase. Then he proceeded down the street as if nothing had happened at all.


End file.
